Be My Mirror
by Pir8grl
Summary: Another bit of speculation about what Peter Capaldi's new Doctor might be like.


Awareness gradually returned to the Doctor. He stirred, trying to stretch his new, aching limbs, and found that he couldn't move his right hand. Someone was holding it. Someone who sat slumped by his bedside, her head resting on her outstretched arm. Long, dark hair spilled about her, obscuring her face.

Her pose triggered a memory…this girl, slumped over a café table. He recalled the smooth feel of her hair under his palm, and the way she'd murmured '_Doctor_,' recognizing his presence even in a semi-conscious state.

If only he could remember her name.

He slowly raised his left hand to eye level. Wrinkled skin. Gnarled joints. He glanced again at the girl beside him. She was young and beautiful, and so very familiar.

He remembered fragments from a couple of regenerations back, his beloved, golden-haired Rose by his side through the regeneration sickness, and him being terrified that she would want to leave him because he'd changed, but that time, he'd turned out young and handsome. And Rose got to keep a version of that him.

He wondered what this girl would get for her pains. His last body hadn't particularly fit the ideal of masculine splendor, but at least they'd appeared to be about the same age. Now…people would likely think he was traveling with his granddaughter again. He'd told her about Susan…well, sort of, on one of their first adventures. Perhaps he'd said it for the shock value: '_Look at me, I really am an alien_.' Anything to set up a wall, to keep her from getting too close, to save hims…the _**both**_ of them…from heartbreak. It obviously hadn't worked too well, as memories came flooding back, of this girl saving him over and over. Mostly, she was a shadow, seen briefly from the corner of his eye, but then a startlingly vivid memory surfaced - a rather brilliant kiss, in the foyer of an elegant Victorian mansion.

Clara. Her name was Clara. How could he have forgotten, even for a second? She'd jumped into his time stream to save him. And he, smitten old fool that he was, had jumped right in after to save her. His hearts filled with affection, watching her sleep beside him. Poor thing, she must have been exhausted by…well, he was a bit fuzzy about the events of the day, but it must have been rather catastrophic, to result in his regenerating.

Keeping his movements to a minimum, so as not to disturb her, he ran his free hand along his scalp, pleased to find abundant hair, even if he couldn't tell the color. That was something, at least. But…_**what**_ was that? He squinted first one eye, and then the other, trying to examine his own profile. Surely that wasn't his _**nose**_? Hadn't that last chin been bad enough?

"What on earth are you doing?" Clara asked, drifting into wakefulness to see the Doctor with his eyes all but crossed, apparently trying to examine his own nose.

"I was just…that is…"

"Some things never change," she said, with a soft chuckle. "Would you like a mirror?"

"Perhaps…not just yet. Would you…?"

"What?" Clara asked softly.

"Would you be my mirror?"

She nodded.

"Now Clara, this is dreadfully important…am I finally ginger?" he asked rather pathetically.

"Nope. Silver. Very definitely silver." He pouted a bit, at that, and Clara found the expression heartrendingly familiar, despite the new face. 

"And the nose?"

"'Fraid so. You could give your friend Rory a run for his money. Don't worry though, the overall effect is…" She tipped her head to one side, searching for the right word. "Distinguished."

He raised his left hand in front of his eyes again. "Clara, I'm _**old**_."

"You're you," she replied, simply. "You're still here with me. That's all that matters."

He sighed, and tried to tug his hand free of hers, but she just held on tighter, adding a second hand for good measure.

"Clara."

"Doctor."

They glared at one another stubbornly for a long moment, then Clara raised their clasped hands to her lips, and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

"Forgive me," he sighed.

"What for?" Clara asked.

"Clara, I look so much older than you now…"

"I can't see how that's your fault." She shrugged slightly. "Besides, you've always been older than me. By several centuries, unless you've been fibbing again, but actually, I know you haven't, because I've been right there with you and seen it all."

"But now I look it."

"D'you really think I'm that shallow?" she asked quietly.

"Of course not! I think you're…too short, and bossy, and you have a funny nose." '_And you are altogether wonderful_,' he added silently.

"Sounds about right," Clara said, grinning. "You've been out of it for quite a while," she said, turning her mind back to practical matters. "Fancy a nice cup of tea? Some jammie dodgers, maybe?"

"Actually…" his voice trailed off.

"What is it? What do you need?"

The Doctor's brand new eyes gleamed intently. "I don't suppose you know how to make haggis, do you?"


End file.
